


Where there's a man who has no voice (there ours shall go singing)

by Jadzia_Bear



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/pseuds/Jadzia_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve takes a step closer to Jemma and quietly asks the question that’s been keeping him awake at night since the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. “Is Bucky still in there?”<br/>“Oh yes,” Jemma assures him, a determined light in her eyes, “and I intend to bring him back.”</p><p>Set after the Ant Man post credits scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where there's a man who has no voice (there ours shall go singing)

**Author's Note:**

> Even if you haven't seen the post credits scene, I think this should make sense. My characterisation of Fitz and Simmons is probably very season 1 (because that's when they were at their cutest and happiest), sorry not sorry :P
> 
> The title is from the song 'Hands' by Jewel, because hands and helping and giving people back their agency are pretty big themes here :)

“So we’re on our own, then,” Steve says, face taut with grim lines.

“Maybe not,” Sam says, wheels turning. “I know a guy.”

* * *

Turns out the guy Sam knows is Riley's kid brother Fitz, some kind of tech wiz who works for Coulson. What Sam didn’t know was that Fitz’s partner is a medical genius of some sort who also went undercover with HYDRA for several months earlier in the year.

Bucky—or the assassin with Bucky’s face, Steve honestly doesn’t know how to think of him right now—is compliant but largely non-verbal as Steve and Sam escort him through the halls of Coulson’s bunker. He’s been that way since they pulled his arm out of that vice this morning. He’s stopped trying to kill them, would seem to have stopped fulfilling his missions or checking back in with his HYDRA handlers, but beyond that, Steve has no idea what they’re dealing with.

One of Coulson’s team, a big guy called Mack, leads the way while Fitz trails behind, oscillating between a polite following distance and a safe one. Clearly he and Sam have plenty they want to catch up on, but they’re both holding off until a more appropriate time.

There’s a tension in the air, but it’s mainly coming from Coulson’s people. Any apprehension on the part of Steve, Sam and Bucky is tempered by exhaustion from the long game of cat and mouse that’s finally come to an end.

“Jemma will meet us at the infirmary,” Fitz explains from a good six feet behind them. The kid seems to have a need to fill the silence, going on about Jemma’s qualifications and experience, but Steve keeps his attention focussed on the grip he’s got on Bucky’s bicep, just in case.

Mack leads them to a room with a few medical beds and some fancy equipment, then takes up position as sentry outside the door.

“Um, just there, thanks,” Fitz says, pointing to one of the beds while simultaneously rummaging in drawers and pulling out several unrecognisable devices.

Steve and Sam cautiously release their respective grips on their captive’s arms. With little prompting, Bucky sits on the edge of the bed. He’s like a puppet with his strings cut, mangled metal hand hanging limply at his side. Sam takes a few steps back and crosses his arms. Steve stays right by Bucky’s side.

Fitz approaches the metal arm warily, a tool of some sort in hand. He’s just about to activate it when a female voice calls out from the doorway.

“No no no, Fitz, not that one!”

Someone else might have looked at the young woman who’d spoken and been surprised to see someone so small and slight bossing others around, but not Steve. He still has very clear memories of a certain skinny little punk doing much the same thing.

She hurries to Fitz’s side, giving Steve and Sam a brief nod in greeting as she goes. “Gentlemen.”

She greets her patient, too, which Steve appreciates.

“Hello, my name’s Jemma,” she says in a kind, gentle voice. Steve doesn’t know how she manages to do it without sounding patronizing, but she does.

Bucky’s face remains impassive. Unfazed, Jemma turns her attention to Fitz, conferring with him in quick, quiet words and handing him one of the other devices in place of the first.

“Well, I didn’t know that, did I?” Fitz mutters testily in response.

“You would have if you’d read all my reports from my undercover mission,” she retorts with a polite smile. “Now, I know there’s going to be a lot of hardware repairs involved here, which is technically your area of expertise, but I’d like to suggest that I take the lead on this one, considering I have experience with this technology.”

Steve zeroes in on that last part. “You’ve worked on him before?”

Jemma looks up, her big hazel eyes meeting his narrowed blue ones. “Not on him specifically, but I worked with others who had undergone the same brainwashing procedure and received similar robotic prosthetics.” And perhaps she mistakes his furrowed brow for confusion, because she adds, “You didn’t think he was the only one, did you?”

She turns back to her patient, but not before Steve catches a glimpse in those deep, expressive eyes of the unspeakable horrors she’d witnessed during her time with the enemy.

She clears her throat. “Now, first things first.”

She positions herself in front of Bucky and recites something in a language that sounds like it might be Russian. Steve’s eyebrows quirk upwards as Bucky transforms before his eyes, back straightening and clouded gaze clearing. He makes direct eye contact with Jemma for the first time since she came into the room and recites something in return.

Clearly this little exchange has told Jemma something important, something good, because she makes no attempt at all to hide a huge sigh of relief.

“You can all relax,” she tells the rest of them, raising her voice loud enough for even Mack to hear. “He’s not going to cause us any trouble. Now, let’s take a look at that poor arm.”

She moves easily into Bucky’s personal space, like he’s a ten-year-old who fell out of a tree, not a mass murderer. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?” she says, looking and only lightly touching.

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod.

Steve feels like an asshole. He had no idea an injury to the metal arm would cause Bucky physical pain.

“Out of ten?” she asks. Behind her, Fitz is already prepping a syringe.

Bucky tucks his hair behind his ear with his good hand as he considers the question. “I don’t know, probably a seven.”

He’s still not Bucky, but at least now he’s acting human.

Jemma presses her lips together in a sympathetic smile. “Well, lucky for you, we’ve got the good stuff.”

With practiced ease she swabs the inside of his elbow and finds a vein. Bucky’s eyelids flutter and he lets out a soft sigh, shoulders easing into a comfortable slouch as the drugs take effect.

Jemma nods to Fitz, who comes forward and starts his scans of the damaged limb.

Steve takes a step closer to Jemma and quietly asks the question that’s been keeping him awake at night since the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. “Is Bucky still in there?”

“Oh yes,” Jemma assures him, a determined light in her eyes, “and I intend to bring him back.”

* * *

_A few hours later..._

Steve and Jemma sit quietly by Bucky’s bedside, watching him sleep. The metal arm rests on top of the covers, all the crushed and dented plating removed. Fitz is off fabricating new pieces and Sam has gone with him. Mack has long since vacated his post, but seems to be finding reasons to pass by the doorway at regular intervals just in case, which Steve has no problem with.

Before Jemma had given Bucky something to make him sleep, she’d administered a series of injections designed to counteract the memory inhibitors HYDRA had installed.

She’d explained the biochemistry of it all to Steve and he’d been happy enough to sit through the technobabble. Her British accent is close enough to Peggy’s to trigger a nostalgic warmth, but not so similar that it’s painful to listen to, and it’s no imposition to watch her soft, pink lips as she talks.

She’d told him it would be less traumatic for Bucky to sleep through the next part. There’s no need for him to be conscious for the confusing and potentially distressing process of having his memories trickle back one by one. This way, all his memories will be reinstated by the time he wakes up.

Just before he’d nodded off, though, there had been a moment when he’d looked into Steve’s eyes and really known him. Not one of those confused glares of partial recognition he’d gotten from the Winter Soldier, this was all Bucky and nothing else. He’d even smiled a little, said Steve’s name, and what else could Steve do but smile back and say, “Hey, Buck.”

It’s been a harrowing week, getting so close to catching Bucky so many times only to have him slip through their fingers over and over. Steve had barely eaten, barely slept, and had spent far too much time contemplating whether he was going to have to eventually put a bullet through his best friend’s skull if they found out he could never be anything more than an empty-headed assassin.

But that hadn’t happened. The chase is over and the very essence of James Barnes is being restored right before his eyes. For the first time in months, Steve can relax.  
  
Bucky makes a soft sound in his sleep, a single snore, and in an instant Steve is flooded with memories of all the nights they spent in that apartment in Brooklyn, and every single tent and barracks across Europe they ever slept in. That sound is so distinctly Bucky that it makes his chest ache, and yet he hadn’t even realised he’d been missing it. His vision swims, tears pooling in his eyes.

He’s attempting to surreptitiously wipe them away when Jemma, voice wavering, asks, “Are you alright?”

He turns to look at her and she, too, has tears in her eyes.

“Yes,” he says quickly, voice rougher than he would have liked. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Oh yes,” she says with glistening eyes and a beautiful smile. “These are happy tears.”

She cants herself to one side so she has better access to the opposite hip pocket. After fumbling for a moment, she produces a small packet of Kleenex and holds one out to him. He takes it even though he no longer needs it, just sort of turns in over in his hands and uses it as a place to focus his gaze as she blots away her own tears.

“When I was at HYDRA,” she begins, “I saw so many of them, so many brainwashed operatives—each one someone’s brother or son or sister or daughter...” she trails off and Steve recognises that same vague, helpless horror in her eyes that he’d seen earlier. She sniffs, reining her thoughts back in. “But I had to maintain my cover so there was nothing I could do for any of them. Until now.”

She looks at Bucky’s sleeping form, then back to Steve. “We _saved_ him,” she says, her hand gripping Steve’s forearm in quiet triumph. “I mean, mostly _you_ saved him,” she corrects herself.

Steve shakes his head. “I only rescued his body, you rescued his mind. Thank you, Jemma.”

She’s so earnest and honest and determined to do good, it resonates with him on a fundamental level. She deserves more than a simple thank-you, but his voice is going gravelly again so he leaves it at that.

What he’d like to do is give her a good three quarters of Stark’s fortune so she has the resources to save whoever she damn well wants. But Tony would probably have objections to that, so instead he slowly turns his forearm over and slides his arm back until their palms are aligned and he can lace their fingers together.

It’s a terrible idea, he’s probably offending her and making a fool of himself, but he’s used to working on instinct and he needs her to know how important this is to him—how important _she_ is to him.

The next bit is mostly her, though, Steve swears.

He’s looking at the hand in his—soft and cool, and so small for hands that have done so much—when her fingers tighten gently between his own. He looks up at her face to gauge whether that little squeeze was the beginning of a polite extraction, but the expression on her face says quite the opposite.

He doesn’t know how she managed to stay undercover so long, her face is so beautifully expressive. He finds himself wondering how well he could capture it in charcoal.

Slowly, cautiously, she closes the distance between them, and like opposite poles of a magnet, Steve feels himself getting drawn in. Her eyes fall shut and he’ll be damned if he’s going to leave her hanging.

He presses his lips to her pretty pink ones.

By anyone’s account it’s a chaste kiss, but it feels like such an indulgence after everything that’s been happening in his life lately. It’s sweet and soft and light and pure, and just for a moment he forgets everything else.

Their lips part and Steve is contemplating a second kiss when they’re interrupted by Bucky, sounding groggy with sleep and mildly indignant.

“Damn it, pal, I had my eye on her.”

Steve huffs a laugh, and when he stands up to move closer to the bed, he takes Jemma with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm one of about three people in the world who ship this pairing, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment if you ship them too :)


End file.
